


make me your one (and only)

by lincesque



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/lincesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It starts with a lady, as it usually does.</i>
</p><p>aka the four times that someone (unknowingly) encroaches on Lothar’s claim and the one time Lothar finally has enough (that's his mage goddamit)</p><p>(the AU no one asked for where everyone lives and no one dies and really, no one has any time for this gdi, Lothar.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	make me your one (and only)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smokingcaramels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingcaramels/gifts), [QueenHarleyQuinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Make Me Your One (And Only) 让我成为你的（唯一）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408384) by [Augathra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augathra/pseuds/Augathra)



> title taken from katy perry's dark horse, [covered by our last night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKVknRFEhpc). 
> 
> aldren and selwyn are original characters kindly on loan from [smokingcaramels](http://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingcaramels/pseuds/smokingcaramels) who is amazing. all other ocs are mine, please don't judge too harshly, they are _plot points_ or smt (?)
> 
> huge thanks to [Harley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn) for letting me screech endlessly and egging me on when i threatened to write this :D
> 
> this is probably not as funny as the summary makes it sound and for that i'm terribly sorry. hope you still manage to enjoy! :D

**I. the lady of the north**

It starts with a lady, as it usually does.

She’s half a head shorter than he is, staring with wide eyes looking at the mass of dancing men and women in the middle of the room. She’s wearing a dark blue gown that accentuates her pale skin and hair braided intricately, the few wisps left floating deliberately around the crown of her head is the colour of wheat. 

Khadgar thinks she looks lonely standing on the very edges of the crowd, all alone. Most ladies her age are in groups around the room gossiping and laughing away, or on the dancefloor with a partner. He knows the feeling of being in the middle of something and yet apart from everyone - it’s one of the reasons he left the Kirin Tor after all.

It’s half sympathy and half recognition of a kindred spirit that makes him stop next to her. She blinks up at him and this close, Khadgar can see that her eyes are a light blue and her features are as delicate and fine as a doll’s.

“Can I help you?” she asks, chin up and eyes steely, a hint of frost in her tone.

Khadgar realises what this might look like to a pretty young lady and backpedals. “Oh. No. I mean, yes. I was just walking past and you were standing there. I mean, I saw you just standing there and thought that -”

He cuts himself off and breathes in, deep, sorting out the words in his mind and finally settles on a legible sentence. “You look like you’re looking for someone?”

His bumbling monologue seems to have loosened the wary tension in her shoulders and she actually smiles a little. “I’m here visiting my sister,” she says, casting her eyes back to the middle of the grand hall with the merrily dancing throng. “I’ve never seen a hall so big or so many people in one place, actually. It’s very different from home.”

“Me either, before I was brought here,” Khadgar offers, after a beat or two of silence, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “I uh, had some information that had to be presented to the court,” he continues, when she glances at him, eyebrows raised curiously.

She peeks back into the crowd and clasps her hands together. “My sister said that the Lion himself would be here tonight, to celebrate the recent victory.”

“ _Lothar_?” Khadgar blurts out, still not quite used to the way that people seemingly idolised Lothar.

“Are you acquainted with him?” she asks, a slight note of astonishment in her tone.

Khadgar smiles, rueful. “He was the one who brought me to Stormwind in the first place.”

“Forgive me though, I have not even thought to introduce myself,” he continues, deftly changing the subject. He doesn’t feel like it’s his place to tell strangers of how he came to be at Stormwind; he does not feel like it’s his story to tell. “I am Khadgar.”

The lady inclines her head in reply. “And I am Gisel, of the far Northern Reaches.”

Gisel turns to him, impish smile on her face and holds out a hand to Khadgar, who blinks back at her, confused. “I refuse to waste the night away just watching people,” she says, and dips into a formal curtsey. “I wish for you to honour me with the next dance, kind sir.”

“Oh.” Khadgar can feel the colour seeping up his neck and burning his ears. “I’m not. I do not. I am really not suitable partner for a lady such as yourself -”

“It’s just a dance,” she laughs and takes his arm, leaving him no choice but to walk with her to the middle of the crowded dance floor just as the musicians start a new song.

Their first few steps together are fumbling, he trips over his own feet and hers in his embarrassment. But when she does nothing but smile encouragingly, her eyes gentle, Khadgar relaxes, and lets himself fall into the measured cadence of the slow tune, taking his lead from Gisel.

She persuades him to stay for another dance, a faster tune this time, both of them grinning as they try to keep up with the beat that gets steadily more hectic with each second. They’re a mess, out of breath and laughing with each other like old friends as they retire back to the sidelines.

This is how Lothar finds him, flushed and happy from dancing, with a lovely young lady on his arm.

“Khadgar,” Lothar says, a bite of impatience in his tone as he strides over. He’s dressed up tonight, in a manner befitting a grand general, with a velvet tunic in a blue that matches his eyes and tight leathers tucked into spit shined black boots. “I’ve been looking all over for -” He stops abruptly three feet away as he finally notices that Khadgar is with company.

Khadgar smiles, wide, pulling Gisel with him for introductions. “Lothar, this is Lady Gisel of the Northern Reaches. She’s come a long way to see you in person.”

Lothar stares at them, eyes sliding to where her arm was tucked comfortably in Khadgar’s. “Has she now?” he mutters, almost under his breath. Khadgar frowns at him.

Gisel lowers herself into a deep curtsey. “My lord,” she murmurs but when she straightens, her eyes immediately go back to Khadgar.

“My lady.” Lothar’s voice is cool, stiltedly formal in reply. His bow is stiff and barely considered polite. “My apologies for interrupting your evening, but I have important business to discuss with my- with Khadgar.”

There’s a moment of silence where Gisel looks between them, confusion turning into a trickling realisation. There’s a secretive curve to her smile when she steps back, away from Khadgar, untangling from him gently. “No, Commander, I think I should be the one making the apologies.”

Lothar nods again, not quite sure he wants to understand the undertone to her polite words, but nevertheless, he clasps Khadgar’s shoulder with one hand and keeps it there. He uses his free arm to gesture towards the long hallway that will lead to the library. “Shall we?”

Khadgar just manages to make a flustered apology to Gisel before he’s almost literally dragged away.

“That was very rude of you,” he huffs, once he is sure they’re well out of earshot. “She came all this way to meet you and you just, brushed her off.”

“It didn’t look like she was interested in _me_ ,” Lothar tells him, fingers tightening a little from where they still are but Khadgar doesn’t even twitch.

Instead, he’s looking up at Lothar with a sort of amused exasperation. “Of course she was. Otherwise, why would she bother spending any time -” _with me_ , goes unsaid.

Lothar looks at him, expression unreadable for a moment, before his hand shifts from Khadgar’s shoulder to his hair, ruffling it hard. “Never mind. Come, my little spell-weaver, let’s see what our King has in store for us, shall we?”

Khadgar has to look away to hide his smile, but he follows Lothar faithfully, as he always does.

 

**II. the lord of the guild**

It’s not uncommon for Khadgar to accompany Lothar to the local tavern some nights. It’s close to the city center and frequented by both the Stormwind guards and the local people. Khadgar himself not a big drinker, but he does get along well enough with many of the soldiers under Lothar’s direct command, finding their direct logic and non-judgmental attitudes refreshing.

Tonight though, there is only Aldren and Selwyn, two of the most senior officers from Lothar’s guards, sharing the table with him and Lothar. The three of them - Lothar, Aldren and Selwyn - are deep in a discussion about training drills when Lothar absently raises his tankard to his lips only to find it empty.

Selwyn makes as if to stand, but Khadgar gestures for her to stay seated and he picks up all three of their empty mugs instead. He leaves his on the table - it’s still more than half full.

“Will you be alright?” Lothar asks in his casual drawl, leaning back in his chair with his eyebrows rising. Khadgar knows that if he says no, Lothar would probably come with to help. He also knows that it is likely that Lothar will not let him live it down afterwards either. It’s probably why Khadgar says he’s fine and shuffles towards the front of the tavern, where the barkeep is, with slow, deliberate effort.

It’s when he’s ready to return back to the table that he realises his miscalculation. Three full tankards of beer are significantly heavier and harder to balance than three empty ones. Khadgar looks at the overfull cups mournfully and wonders if he could get away with making more than one trip. He knows that Lothar would only heckle him about it for the next three months for not admitting he needed help in the first place.

It’s a good thing, he thinks gloomily, that he is well overdue to return to Karazhan. Perhaps he should just teleport there tonight to spare himself the indignity of Lothar’s mocking but not unkind jokes. Just as he’s decided to just make three separate trips, Lothar and his dignity be damned, a low voice pipes up almost right beside him. “Would you be needing some help?” 

Khadgar barely manages to smother a loud curse and turns to face the speaker. The stranger towers over him, probably as tall as Lothar, if not taller, but much more slender in build. He has dark hair that falls into his eyes and the sort of high cheekbones and classically handsome features that most ladies would find appealing.

He leans over, well into Khadgar’s personal space and pushes up the sleeve of Khadgar’s tunic fully from where it had already been half-rolled, examining the mark on his forearm. Khadgar struggles but the man’s fingers are like a steel trap, holding him still.

“A mage,” the stranger says, finally letting him go. Khadgar rubs at his arm but there had been no force behind the grip so it had not been painful. “We do not get many of your kind here, in Stormwind City.” He looks Khadgar up and down slowly, deliberately and Khadgar cannot help the way he flushes at this unexpected attention, the warmth burning all the way to his ears. “I would definitely like to make an acquaintance of you, young mage.”

“Khadgar,” he blurts out, feeling more and more out of his depth by the second. “My name is Khadgar.”

“Khadgar.” His name is drawled out slow, almost as if the other man was tasting the letters on his tongue. Khadgar feels the flush crawl up his face, heating his cheeks and he has no choice but to take the hand offered to him.

“I am Neilson,” the man continues and holds on tight to Khadgar’s hand, not letting go. “Head of the Merchants Guild.”

“P-pleased to meet you, Neilson.” Khadgar makes a valiant but futile effort to extract his hand but Neilson’s grip is strong for a merchant, unsurprising, considering the calluses Khadgar can feel on the other man’s palm. Sword work, he thinks.

“I assure you, little mage, the pleasure is entirely mine,” Neilson says and steps a little closer, pressing them almost together, and rubs his thumb gently over the back of Khadgar’s hand. Khadgar swallows a squeak.

“Khadgar.” Lothar’s voice is a harsh snap that makes Khadgar’s head jerk around almost instinctively.

Lothar is standing a couple of steps away, feet slightly apart, bracing him solidly on the unpaved floor. His arms hang loosely at his sides and he stares at him and Neilson, a scowl like a thundercloud brewing on his normally inexpressive features.

“I thought you went to get drinks, not linger to dally with,” here, Lothar’s gaze sweeps up and down Neilson once before dismissing him entirely, “whatever that is.”

“I can explain,” Khadgar babbles, he’s nervous for some reason he can’t quite pin down, heartbeat fluttering in his chest. “He was just offering me some help.”

Neilson pushes Khadgar behind him and steps forward. Khadgar was right, Neilson and Lothar stand at almost the same height but if Neilson is a rapier, then Lothar is a broadsword, made from sheer muscle and the breadth of his shoulders positively dwarfs Neilson’s.

“I know who you are, Anduin Lothar and I do not fear the Lion’s wrath.” Neilson’s smiling, but there’s razors hidden in the expression, sharp and out to draw blood. “Tell me, are you willing to pit yourself against the entire Merchant’s Guild just to make a point?”

Lothar’s finger points in the direct of Khadgar. “He,” he says, voice low, not quite a snarl, “is not a point to be made.”

Neilson takes a step between them, effectively blocking Khadgar from Lothar’s view and holds up his index finger for emphasis. “But you cannot deny that you were watching from your corner, waiting for Khadgar to make a mistake so you could come rushing in to play hero.”

“He is a grown man, he can make his own choices. I would step in only if he _asks_ for assistance.” Lothar tilts his chin up, a challenge. “He is no damsel in distress, he does not need someone like you to rescue him.” He steps forward as well and pushes his hand against Neilson’s chest, moving him by brute force away from Khadgar. “You do not know him, so I would ask you to keep your hands to yourself.”

“If you’re both quite done?” Khadgar quite honestly feels a bit like a bone for contention between two rabid dogs. He’s defended himself against dark magic and taken down orcs with just his wits and magic - he is not a child to be coddled, even by Lothar. Aldren and Selwyn are steady presences beside him, they had made their way silently to his side as soon as Lothar had appeared.

“It was nice to meet you, Neilson, but I’m afraid it’s late and I have an early audience with the King tomorrow.“ Khadgar says polite, but he can’t help the way the flush reappears over his cheeks when Neilson looks back at him and watches him with those dark, warm eyes. Khadgar hears, more than sees the low, bitten off sound of outrage from Lothar’s direction. Selwyn barely manages to muffle her snigger but he can feel her shaking from suppressed laughter beside him.

Neilson takes his hand and places a small metal object inside, closing Khadgar’s fingers firmly over it, sneaking in one last touch under Lothar’s watchful eyes. “If you’re ever down in the Trade District, and want to see me, drop by the Guild and show them that pin.” He smiles slyly and glances at Lothar who bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “It will tell them that you have found _favour_ with the the head of the Merchant’s Guild.”

Neilson is gone as suddenly as he appeared, long cloak swirling about his tall frame. There is little to show for his previous presence except for the small pile of gold next to the barkeep, the pin in Khadgar’s hand and Lothar’s seething temper.

Khadgar watches Lothar warily, edging his way past, heading slowly towards the wooden door that leads back out to the streets. “I will head back early tonight, I think.”

Selwyn and Aldren exchange a long glance - an entire unspoken conversation - before Aldren sighs and nods, somewhat reluctantly. Selwyn picks up her cloak, swinging it around her shoulders before she offers Khadgar his. “I will accompany you back to the Keep, young mage.” She glances at where Aldren is chivvying Lothar back to his seat, easily managing the three full tankards of beer and smirks. “Don’t worry, _I_ have no designs on your virtue.” And he is definitely not imagining the way she’s emphasising the _I_ deliberately.

Khadgar doesn’t make any sort of protest, just sweeps by her, head held high, but he nevertheless knows that she will see the damning flush of pink across his cheekbones, an unfortunate curse of his pale skin.

 

**III. the archmage of the south**

“No. You absolutely may not.” Llane does not raise his voice often, but when he does, it makes the entire court sit up and pay attention. 

He’s a king, one who has led legendary charges and won wars and established a long lasting peace for his people. He has no idea how he has been now relegated to trying to stare down one of his best friends from childhood and talk him out of doing something phenomenally stupid.

The people call Lothar the Lion of Azeroth, Llane thinks balefully, the Champion of Stormwind. He wishes that every single one of them could see the petulant boy-child expression on their champion’s face right now.

Lothar crosses his arms and honest to Light _whines_. “I saw him, he came out of Khadgar’s room this morning, at first dawn.”

“For the love of Light, Anduin,” Llane says exasperated, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “We have an alliance with their kingdom. Their archmage was just interested in how Stormwind’s mages utilise magic. From what I can gather, they have a very different process to produce the exact same spell effects.”

Llane’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “One moment. How do _you_ know that Archmage Canthor left Khadgar’s room this morning, at first light?”

Lothar looks awfully shifty for a grown man clad in armour, not quite meeting his king’s eyes and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I was coming from morning training and I thought I would do a spot check on the guards in the East Wing?”

“You have never done a spot check in your life,” Llane points out dryly. ”You said that it was unnecessary since you handpicked the all the Keep guards yourself and wanted to show that you, as their commander, trusted them to fulfil their duty.” 

Before Lothar has a chance to reply, the door to the Royal Library bursts open and Khadgar enters, his colour high, eyes blazing. The guards at the door are trying in vain to cover their amused grins as they politely bow to their king and general and close the door once more.

Khadgar doesn’t seem to notice Llane’s presence at all, storming right up to Lothar and glaring up at him. Llane doesn’t mind a whit, not one for useless formalities between friends, and takes this chance to settle back into his chair and pour himself some watered wine, ready for a fine spectacle. 

“What is this I hear from Selwyn about you challenging Archmage Canthor to a duel?” Khadgar demands leaning right up into Lothar’s personal space. Lothar is the one who ends up having to take half a step back, obviously not expecting this amount of anger or forward aggression from their mage.

He recovers quickly enough though, raising his eyebrows and tilting his smile in a way that usually signified to Llane that he was going to do or say something particularly stupid. “I’m just looking out for your virtue, spell-weaver.” Lothar doesn’t seem to notice the way Khadgar starts spluttering indignantly at those words, or more likely, he probably doesn’t care. “You are one of Stormwind’s mages now. We take care of our own.”

“My virtue?” Khadgar manages to ground out after moment and Llane does not think he’s seen their young friend so furious before. His mouth opens and shuts several times without a sound as if he’s at a complete loss for words.

“I will have you know, Canthor’s training is based on his religious practices,” Khadgar says finally, low and fuming. “And his religion asks that all of their mages remain celibate as they believe that the purity of body is what also gives purity of mind in order to be able to serve their Gods.”

Lothar tilts his head and he looks down at their little mage, who is still almost vibrating on the spot with his anger. “And what about you?” he asks.

Khadgar seems to be slightly thrown off guard. He blinks once, twice and looks more and more puzzled than angry now. Llane would applaud Lothar’s ability to derail a conversation to suit his own personal needs if he did not know that it was completely unintentional. “What of me?”

“Does the Kirin Tor demand this of all their apprentices? To be celibate in order to preserve the ‘purity of body’?” Llane grimaces, he can almost hear the quotation marks and prepares himself to use his goblet of wine to douse the flame that Khadgar is likely to set on Lothar for such an impertinent question.

To both Lothar and Llane’s surprise, Khadgar looks away and actually _blushes_ , mumbling something underneath his breath.

Lothar raises his eyebrows and like a predator smelling blood, he presses his advantage. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“I said,” Khadgar repeats, slightly louder this time, still somewhat pink in the cheeks and not meeting anyone’s eyes. “The Kirin Tor strongly encouraged the purity of the body, but it was not inflexible vow of celibacy.” He darts a quick glance at Lothar before obviously deciding that it was high time to cut his loses and starts shuffling towards the door.

Llane sighs and raises one hand briefly as Khadgar hurries past him with an awkwardly mumbled ‘ _your Majesty_ ’.

In the silence after Khadgar’s exit, Llane watches Lothar and sees him watch the door where Khadgar had left via intently, one hand on his chin, his expression thoughtful and pleased at the same time.

“Whatever you’re planning,” Llane says as he rises, he has decided to see if his lady has any possible idea on how to waylay the potential disaster that was waiting to happen. “I don’t want to know.”

Lothar just smiles.

 

**IV. the warrior of two worlds**

“For the last time,” Garona jerks out of the hands of the ladies-in-waiting trying to do her hair and help her into the dress. “I do not need anyone’s help to prepare for a feast.”

Taria is standing a little distance back to give Garona her space and smiles gently at this, dismissing all the other women from the room with a gesture, leaving just the two of them alone.

“The winter solstice is a special time for our people,” Taria says as she moves within touching distance, reaching out and smoothing the invisible wrinkles from the shoulder of the dress that Garona reluctantly wears. She is stunning in it nevertheless, as Taria had known she would be, the dark grey of the sheer fabric hugging each curve of her figure and cut deliberately low to flaunt pale green skin.

The royal seamstress had not even batted an eyelid when Taria had brought Garona in with a request for a full winter solstice outfit less than three days earlier. She was an older woman who had been with the royal household for decades and served two kings, there was very little these days that could faze her.

Garona holds herself still by force of will, as if there’s still a tiny part of her afraid that she might break the delicate woman in front of her if she even breathes wrong. Taria picks up the thick cape, dyed royal blue and trimmed with the soft silvery fur of a winterbeast, and draws it around Garona’s shoulders, helping her fasten the clasp by her neck.

“Perfect. Just one thing missing though,” she says and places the dagger she had given Garona that fateful afternoon not too long ago back into her hands. 

Llane had sent someone to retrieve it from a dead orc’s throat after the battle, where she had thrown it in a desperate attempt to save him. It had worked well enough to create a distraction just long enough for Lothar to arrive on gryphon-back and rescue both of them.

Garona stares at the sleek weapon lying across her fingers. Her eyes rise to meet Taria’s, gaze steady and sure. “Thank you,” she says and there’s nothing hesitant about her anymore, “my Queen.”

Taria merely smiles and draws Garona’s hand into hers, guiding her to where the large polished mirror stood, next to the window through which streamed the last few dregs of twilight, just enough to bathe them in a fierce orange-red glow. They stand together, looking into the mirror, and they seem more alike than not in that moment - both clad in the royal colours of silver and grey and blue, the flare of something wild and untameable barely banked in their eyes. 

“You are one of us now,” Taria muses, “Thus you will need to have a fitting escort. He should have prestige and power and be worthy to stand by your side.”

Garona stares back at Taria through the mirror. “Then I know exactly who I want,” she says, voice husky. The smallest of smiles curves, her teeth gleaming white against the blood red rouge painted across her lips. 

There’s a knock on the door, brief but loud and a polite pause before it swings open to admit Khadgar. Their young mage has cleaned up well, Taria thinks, amused. Someone has clearly taken him under their wing. 

He is still clad in muted, earthy tones of dark blue and green, but the cloth looks like a fine weave and it is gold thread that embroiders the royal lion across his heart. His cloak falls in a heavy ripple just above his boots and is closed around this shoulder with a golden brooch stamped with the mark of the Kirin Tor. He’s still pure Khadgar though, and he shifts embarrassed under their combined scrutiny, hair glinting a burnished mahogany under the dying light when he ducks his head, an unopened book clutched in his hands. 

Garona tilts her head, eyes raking Khadgar up and down, something a little predatory, a little hungry in her gaze. “I have changed my mind,” she purrs as she circles around Khadgar, reaching out to place a slim hand on his shoulder. “He will do perfectly.”

“Do what perfectly?”

Taria is not surprised, a little resigned maybe, but not surprised when Lothar strides in, presence commanding. She sees how Khadgar straightens, something brightening on his open features and does not think he even realises how his eyes follows Lothar’s every move and every gesture.

Garona does though and she smiles, all teeth, hand still on Khadgar’s shoulder, caressing in a way that’s almost proprietary. “Khadgar will be my escort tonight to the winter solstice celebration.”

Lothar’s gaze flicks to her hand, lips thinning, and then to Khadgar who flushes and looks away. Lothar turns to Taria finally, his eyes stormy. “You should not be intruding on our mage’s time so casually, sister,” he snaps. “He has better things to do than to sit around, listening to the petty whining of the court.”

Taria raises her brows, but it is Garona who speaks first, dropping her hand from Khadgar’s shoulder to stalk forward, into Lothar’s space. “You say that we waste his time, and yet it seems to be you who is always around, monopolising his attention.” She stares right up at him, challenging, even as Taria shakes her head in warning, too late. “Have you perhaps thought it is _you_ with whom he’s wasting his time with?”

Khadgar looks like hunted prey when Lothar turns to him and pins him down with both his gaze and his hands, heavy on slender shoulders. “Is this true, Khadgar?” he asks, voice serious, but his face could have been carved from stone with how expressionless it was. 

His guard is up and Taria would sigh if she didn’t think that whatever was happening between Khadgar and Lothar needed to come to a head, sooner rather than later. Perhaps, she thinks as she glances at Garona, who is not bothering to hide her smirk, their newest clan member truly did have the right idea after all.

“Do you think that we should spend less time together? Would you prefer it perhaps, if I was to call on you less?” Lothar demands, and Khadgar shuffles another step backwards with each word, something pained in his eyes, until his back hits the wall and there is nowhere left to retreat. “Am I nothing but a nuisance to you?”

Khadgar looks up at Lothar and he just looks completely lost. “I-I…”

Lothar pushes both of his hands onto the wall, effectively trapping Khadgar in the circle of his arms. He leans in, tilting his head down until their faces are almost too close, breathing each other’s air. There’s a rawness to Lothar’s expression that he cannot hide or perhaps he does not want to hide anymore - and it’s an expression that Taria has not seen in years, perhaps decades, ever since Callan had been born. Watching them makes her feel like she’s intruding on something private, something too-intimate for outsiders like her.

Garona obviously feels the same, and as brash and blunt as she usually is, it is she who takes Taria’s arm now, footsteps silent on the stone floor, leading them to the door and out. She is careful to shut it after her, taking extra care not to make any loud noises.

They look at each other and Taria cannot help the small giggle that slips through the hand that she has clasped over his lips. Garona’s lips also twitch and her hand is warm around Taria’s as they shuffle as fast as their skirts allow, down the hall and out via the spiraling staircase.

Taria looks back, just the once, and her smile is fond, loving. “And now the rest is all up to you, Anduin.”

 

**V. the lion of azeroth**

The sound of the twilight bell from the Cathedral of Light chimes through the Keep, but Lothar cannot hear it past the too-loud ringing in his ears.

“Khadgar,” he says and leans forward just an inch more, resting his forehead against Khadgar’s. “Tell me, please. Tell me the truth.”

Khadgar licks at dry lips, and the quick dart of his tongue is mesmerising. There’s a second of silence, then two. “I do not,” he whispers finally, looking down, away from Lothar. “I just,” he stutters to a stop here and breathes in deep. “I just want you to be there for me, always.”

Khadgar sounds so small and sad and defeated that Lothar cannot help the way he reaches out even as his heart soars, fingers gentle against pale skin when he raises those dark eyes to meet his own once more. “Tell me again,” he demands, voice hoarse.

“I want you to stay with me,” Khadgar says, eyes defiant and brave, and Lothar can’t help the curl of his lips or the need to touch, to claim what was his and Lothar finally leans down and lets himself touch those lips with his own.

The confession is soft and it lingers in the air, and Lothar drinks it in just like he drinks in Khadgar, and revels in the smoothness of his skin, the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath his fingers and the way he kisses back, gentle and sweet.

When he pulls back, Khadgar’s eyes are wide, mouth bruised, and Lothar smiles, because this was truly his mage now and he would allow no one to touch what was his. “I think I will keep you,” he murmurs, rubbing a thumb over the lower curve of Khadgar’s lips.

The colour that paints over Khadgar’s cheeks is a beautiful flush of red but he’s smiling back, a little shy and tentative and Lothar kisses that smile again, wanting to know if it still feels and tastes just as sweet as the others. 

It does.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://tumbloncat.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i'm always up for screeching about anything :D
> 
> (i'm going to take a little bit of a break after this oh my god - literally 10k in less than a week after a two year hiatus? i'm wrecked. thanks, fandom XD)


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